I had occasion recently to reflect on a list of 54 Thanksgivings that I had written as a way to honour my birthday. Items from the full spread of decades made the list…Things that were good from the get-go (Being taught common-sense and trusted to exercise it)…and things now seen in retrospect (Learning, growth, and strength that come from struggle and difficult circumstance). Significant places made the list–among them, sheet tents in my childhood bedroom or on the porch. Random oddball things also appeared–learning about the grammatical use of an ellipsis…(I am a fan.) I was thankful for my senses, the gift of literacy…for relationships and aspects of relationships…

One of those aspects has always particularly touched me. Now, I love a good laugh-til-you-cry and I’ve been fortunate enough to have many of those with people…and I have known too silence that is weighted by its emptiness, then hefted, and wielded. There is, though, another sort of stillness that happens much less frequently than the laughter and fortunately bears no likeness to the silence comprised of absence. 

It is this soft-edged gift that made my list: the satiating fullness of quiet between friends that is offered and received mutually, organically, with comfort, ease, and trust. 

For those with whom I have shared this nourishment, these lines and so much gratitude: 

Breaking Quiet

My friend and I, we
broke quiet together like
in another moment or setting
we might break bread.

There was a bright fluidity
to the gift we ladled into our bowls;
a bloom of richness, with light
and depth and something beyond.

It does not have a recipe, this shared Divine feast.
It arises from the flavours, the textures,
the grace, of ingredients already at the table.
And asks of us only to enjoy in peace and thanksgiving.

Kimberly M. King